


i’ll wait by the backstage door

by laikais



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Homelessness, M/M, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, but only lowkey - Freeform, gratuitous playing of wonderwall by oasis, this is so self indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-03-19 21:19:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18978562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laikais/pseuds/laikais
Summary: “Achilles,” Patroclus murmured. The name was strange, foreign in his mouth, but somehow it felt like a puzzle piece fitting in, felt like everything was clicking into place. He smiled back, nudged Achilles’ shoulder— when had he gotten so close?— and said “I like it.”Or: Patroclus loses his wallet, gets a fake boyfriend, stops living out of his car, accidentally saves a life, mortally offends his best friend’s mother, and falls in love— not necessarily in that order.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i absolutely cannot believe i’m posting this. thank you madeline miller for giving me the inspiration and motivation to write again!
> 
> i absolutely love achilles and patroclus so much, and i hope i’ve somewhat done them justice. 
> 
> enjoy!

“Shit,” Patroclus hissed, hands frantically patting his pockets. His wallet was missing, and along with it his last few dollars in cash— and his debit card, student ID, his parking pass, and a smattering of gift cards he’d hoarded over the years. “Shit, shit.”

The sun had just barely risen, but he’d been up for hours, walking across campus, trying very hard to think of nothing at all. He knew he had it when he’d started walking that morning, but that almost made it worse— it could be anywhere.

Patroclus’ hands made it up to his head, fingers twisting into his hair. This was bad. He had no money, he had to cancel his debit card, he had to pay for a new ID and a new parking pass, but he didn’t have any money to do that with. It wasn’t even a month into the school year. He had no idea what he was going to do.

Find the wallet, he thought, hoping against hope that it wasn’t a lost cause.

He decided to retrace his steps, finding himself on the sidewalk next to the soccer fields before he slowed to a stop. It really could be anywhere, he realized. He stared across the fields for a moment, anxiety churning in his gut.

Any other time, Patroclus would have wondered at the beauty of it, the faint glistening of dew across the freshly-cut grass, the slowly lightening sky— a deep blue, at one edge, an almost black purple at the other. It was cool, but not cold, the promise of another warm late summer afternoon. The sky was clear. It was going to be a beautiful day.

Patroclus buried his face in his hands, on the verge of a panic attack. He had no idea how he was going to be able to _eat_.

He stood like that for a moment, chest tight, before he recognized the gentle _tap_ of feet against the sidewalk. Someone was jogging towards him.

Patroclus quickly dropped his hands— an embarrassed flush rising to his face— and moved out of the way. Unfortunately for him, the stranger slowed to a stop in front of him. Even more unfortunately for him, it was the most beautiful person he had ever seen in his entire life.

He was like— a painting, Patroclus thought. Like a statue. His sharp cheekbones, his strong jawline, the delicate bow of his full lips, his thick eyebrows. His hair was golden, and Patroclus could tell, even in the dim half-darkness of the morning. It was long, too, in a low, messy ponytail. His hair was just above shoulder length, and flowed in soft waves, twisting into curls at the ends. A few loose strands fell out of his hairband and framed his face in gentle ringlets, somehow making him look softer, rounding out the sharp lines of his face.

Something itched at the back of his mind, something that he could almost swear was a sense of familiarity, even though he knew he’d never seen this man before. He’d have remembered.

The man’s arm outstretched, and Patroclus felt heat rising to his cheeks despite himself. The man was slim, yet his arm was lithe and strong, veins visible beneath the skin. Even his hands were beautiful, and his nails looked meticulously well-maintained.

And then he spoke. His voice was clear, not high or low, but he spoke carefully, as if he was considering every word before he spoke it. Patroclus blinked, shaking himself a bit, realizing the man was speaking to him.

“—I found it on the ground over there, and then I saw you across the street. I thought this picture looked like you. Is it yours?”

Patroclus’ eyes flickered down to the object the man was holding out to him, and lo and behold, there it was. His wallet, a polaroid of him and Briseis smiling at the camera in the clear outside pocket.

“Yes,” he breathed, taking it gently, and opening it up. Everything was there, even the stupid gift cards, snugly filed into their own pockets. Relief crashed over him, sudden and overwhelming, and Patroclus found himself blinking back unexpected tears. He clenched his jaw, forcing them back. He would not let this man see him cry.

“Thank you,” He said, after a minute, voice low and sincere. “You really saved me there.”

“No problem,” the man said, looking at him with what Patroclus thought was curiosity. “Have I seen you somewhere before?”

Patroclus snorted despite himself. “That’s a rather unoriginal pickup line.”

“Taken, huh?” The man nodded at the wallet in Patroclus’ hand.

“I— no,” he said, surprised. “She’s just a friend.” His eyes narrowed, and he felt a smirk spread across his face. “What does it matter to you?”

The man’s mouth twitched. “I was just wondering. You look really familiar.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Patroclus said. “You know, that really does sound like a pickup line.” 

The stranger huffed a little bit and shook his head, but Patroclus could swear he saw amusement toying at the corner of his eyes. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“That’s okay,” Patroclus said. “I don’t mind.”

The stranger leaned forward— just a little, but enough for Patroclus to catch. “No offense, but you look wrecked. Do you want to—” he paused, mulling over his words. “—Get coffee?”

Patroclus opened his mouth, and then closed it, frowning. “I’m broke.”

“I’ll pay,” the man said. Patroclus opened his mouth in protest. “It’s no big deal.” He said, cutting Patroclus off. Patroclus blinked in surprise, and the man turned towards the field, staring at the shops that lay just across it.

“Well?” He said, looking over his shoulder, raising a blonde eyebrow. Patroclus was momentarily speechless, transfixed by the line of the man’s nose, the way the still-on streetlights caught in his golden hair, contrasting with the strange shadows left by the sluggishly lightening sky. The man cocked his head a little bit, and Patroclus blinked, realizing he forgot to answer.

“Well what?” He asked, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a smile.

“Are you coming?” He asked, nodding his head towards the fields.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go, do I?” Patroclus walked up beside him, pretending not to feel the prickle of the man’s eyes watching him, instead narrowing his eyes towards the dew-dipped grass.

“I wasn’t sure,” He said, stepping forward into the field. “You might have been meeting up with somebody.” Patroclus glanced at him, and noticed that a tension seemed to have lifted from his shoulders. He was unable to help the small flower of pleasure that grew in him at the sight.

Patroclus fell into step beside him easily, as if he had known him for years and not a few minutes. Their feet left footprints on the ground, a perfect trail of where they’d been. “At six in the morning?”

“Well, what were you doing then?”

Patroclus’ smile faltered for a moment, but he shook it off. He glanced at the man out of the corner of his eye. “What were _you_ doing?”

The man’s mouth quirked up at the corner. It was barely a smile, but Patroclus was seized with the sudden urge to see more of it, to see this model of a man grin from ear to ear. “Oh, we’re keeping secrets, are we?”

“I wasn’t aware,” Patroclus replied. “Are we?”

Their eyes met, and a grin spread across Patroclus’ face before he could help it. To his delight, it was mirrored, and the man’s smile was a bit crooked, just a little uneven at the left side. If he was beautiful when he was stoic and solemn, he was ethereal when he was smiling. Patroclus’ heart gave a strange flutter.

“That’s up to you, stranger,” The man said. “I never got your name.”

“Patroclus.”

“Pat-ro-clus,” The man said slowly, as if testing it out in his mouth. Patroclus watched the slow movement of his lips as they formed his name, every syllable perfectly enunciated. He hated his name, hated the way it fit into his mouth and other people’s mouths the same, always too hurried and uneven, the people speaking it rushing as fast to get through saying it as Patroclus rushed to get through hearing it.

But the way this man said his name— each syllable given equal important weight, the way he tasted it on his tongue like it was a fresh berry on a summer’s day— suddenly Patroclus wanted to hear it again, to hear _more_ , in a way he never had before. It was like a hunger, a sudden fire lit in his ribs, unable to be sated by anything except the stranger’s clear voice.

“Patroclus,” The man said under his breath, rolling it around in his mouth. His green eyes, solemn like the stars on a clear night, sparkled as he met Patroclus’. “I like it.”

Patroclus swallowed reflexively, unable to tear his eyes away. “This isn’t an equal exchange,” He forced out, voice lower than he expected. “What’s your name,” he paused, and inclined his head slightly. “Stranger?”

The man smiled again, warm like a sunbeam hitting the cheek on a summer’s day. “Achilles.”

“Achilles,” Patroclus murmured. The name was strange, foreign in his mouth, but somehow it felt like a puzzle piece fitting in, felt like everything was clicking into place. He smiled back, nudged Achilles’ shoulder— when had he gotten so close?— and said “I like it.”

“Do you?”

“I do.”

If Patroclus has looked back, he would have seen their footprints, just barely illuminated by the slowly rising sun, left behind in the pale, dew-misted grass. They were growing closer and closer together with every step they took. But he didn’t look back— why would he? Achilles told a joke and Patroclus threw his head back and laughed. He poked fun at him, and Achilles smiled, with a grin too radiant to belong on any face but his. In an hour, the sun would burn the dew from the ground, leaving only the slight indentations of where their feet had been, like the echo of a secret, confined only to the half-morning light.

 

Achilles led him to a small, hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, the kind Briseis was always trying to take him to and that Patroclus would always refuse because he was, well, broke. It was all wood inside, warm and inviting, plants lining the windowsills. It was slow and sleepy— they were the first ones in there— and the seats looked soft and comfortable. It smelled like coffee, good coffee, and his stomach growled.

His eyes landed on the chalkboard hanging behind the counter, and Patroclus grimaced. He decided to order water. Iced, preferably. With lemon, if he was feeling fancy, which he wasn’t.

Achilles glanced at him, and his eyes narrowed. Patroclus flushed, looking away. Achilles nudged his arm. “Don’t even think about it. I’ll pay, it seriously isn’t a big deal.”

And that— was weird, honestly. It was intimate, far too intimate for how long they’d known each other, which was all of twenty minutes. But that wasn’t the weird thing— how Achilles knew exactly what Patroclus was thinking, how he didn’t hesitate to pay for him— no, the weird thing was how _normal_ it felt. Like they’d been having the same argument for years. It was completely natural, to both of them.

Patroclus glared at Achilles out of the corner of his eye. Achilles glared back. “Are you allergic to anything?”

“Yes,” Patroclus replied. “I’m allergic to literally everything, unfortunately. So you can’t get me anything.”

“Tragic,” Achilles said, before striding up to the counter and ordering “Two caramel macchiatos, please, and two scones.”

“Seriously?” Patroclus asked, following him to a table by the window. “What if I am allergic to literally everything?”

“Then you’ll die a young death,” Achilles said, a smug look on his face.

Patroclus sighed. “I don’t— I can’t pay you back. For this.”

“That’s okay,” said Achilles. “I don’t expect you to. We’re friends, that’s what friends do.”

Patroclus felt warmth blooming in his chest. He smiled at Achilles, unable to help himself. He looked almost otherworldly, illuminated by the orange light that was now peeking through the window, and yet. So human, and friendly, and warm, smiling at him from across the table.

“That’s what friends do, huh?” Patroclus said softly. “I can work with that.”

The coffee arrived, and Patroclus somehow miraculously overcame his everything allergy, practically inhaling the scone. The coffee, however, he savored, rolling each sugary sip across his tongue, eyes fluttering close in pleasure. Achilles was clearly having the same experience, and Patroclus watched him in between sips, as he considered his coffee, face serious. Sometimes, as he put his cup down, he would catch Patroclus’ eye, and Patroclus would quickly look away, studying the contents of his cup or the floor or the ticking clock, slowly but surely moving closer to seven.

Achilles spoke as Patroclus finished the dregs of his coffee. “Do you want to walk around? I don’t have anywhere to be for a while.” He paused. “It’s okay if you do—”

Patroclus cut him off. “I don’t either,” He said.

Achilles smiled, and Patroclus thought his heart was going to burst out of his chest. “Okay,” he said.

 

They ended up in a tree, somewhere on the edge of the small college town, far out of eyesight of anybody.

“Do you have any weird talents?” Patroclus asked, stretched out in the crook between two branches.

Achilles grinned. “I can juggle.”

Patroclus raised an eyebrow, and Achilles pulled three apples from his bag.

“I can do more than three, but this is all I have right now.” He started juggling them, tossing them around in the air with an impossible grace. He shot Patroclus a smug smile, as if to say _so there_ , as if to say _that’s what you get for not believing me_ , as if to say _look how cool I am, juggling my apples._

“Do you carry around apples just to show off your juggling skills?” Patroclus asked, amused.

“What— no!” Achilles protested, looking at him incredulously through the windmill of apples rising and falling by his head. “I just like fruit!”

Patroclus tipped his head back and laughed easily, reclining back onto the branch he was laying on. Achilles slowed his juggling to a stop on the branch above him, and moved so that he was dangling, head upside down in front of Patroclus’ face. “Do _you_ have any weird talents?”

“I can skip rocks like, really far,” Patroclus said, flicking Achilles in the forehead. He sat up, scowling, but even his frown couldn’t hide the smile threatening to burst through.

It was incredible, how easy it was to be with him. Patroclus had never experienced anything like it, how he could say anything he wanted without fear of judgement, how he could laugh so easily and make Achilles laugh too, how Achilles seemed to somehow understand him, know him almost better than Patroclus knew himself. They hadn’t stopped talking since they’d left the coffee shop, and Patroclus was sure he hadn’t spoken so much in his entire life.

It was like a shared hunger, between them, to know as much about the other as possible. Patroclus asked, and asked, and asked, about Achilles’ major (music), about his favorite foods (figs), his favorite classes (“Whatever Chiron’s teaching”), about why he chose this college (their track program), what he wanted to do in the future (go to the olympics). And Achilles matched him, answering every question with a “What about you?” and then a question of his own.

Patroclus drank it in, this novelty, this knowing another person, and still it did not sate his thirst. He wanted to know _everything_ , wanted to know Achilles from the inside out, wanted to see what he looked like crying from laughter or shaking in anger or sleepy in the early hours of the morning.

They talked, and they talked, and they talked, and when Patroclus checked his phone and saw that it was almost nine, that they’d been talking for over two hours, that _I really have to go, I’ll be late to class_ , it felt like no time had passed at all.

Achilles had to go, too, and his next class was at the opposite side of the campus from where Patroclus was heading— Patroclus didn’t have his bag. Patroclus watched him jog off towards the music halls, a strange, cold lump sitting deep in his stomach. Achilles waved, cheerful as ever, and the morning sun caught in his hair, making it glisten like spun gold. Patroclus waved back, smiling, and watched as he disappeared into the distance.

Then, he realized.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, kicking the tree. “Goddamnit!”

He’d forgotten to get Achilles’ number.

Patroclus set off to get his bag, mentally kicking himself. Oh well. I’ll get it, somehow, he resolved. He’d known Achilles for all of three hours, and already, Patroclus could somehow not imagine life without him.

 

He made it to class just on time— running from town to the parking garage to grab his bag all the way to his lecture hall took a surprisingly long time— and when he slid into his seat Briseis shot him an amused look.

“You look like a mess,” She said, grinning.

“Thanks,” Patroclus replied. He couldn’t really fight her, he knew. He’d been up since 3 in the morning and the caffeine from the coffee had worn off, and he’d probably just run a mile and a half. Also, he realized, he hadn’t showered in three days. He shot Briseis a tired grin. “You want to give this mess a pencil?”

She sighed, and fished one out of her bag, before shoving her hands into his hair uninvited, trying to fix it.

His hair was bad, too? Now _that_ was embarrassing. Patroclus groaned. “How is your morning going so far?”

“I woke up twenty minutes ago, so, pretty good,” She replied. “How’s yours?”

Patroclus shot her a miserable look, and she laughed. “That bad, huh?”

Patroclus glanced over to where the professor was walking through the door. “I’ll tell you after,” He said.

An hour and a half later, Patroclus was lying on Briseis’ bed, face in his hands.

“So let me get this straight,” She said, sitting against the wall, legs draped over Patroclus’. “This guy saves your ass, invites you to coffee, buys you a drink against your own best interest, asks if you want to go for a walk, you guys talk for _hours_ , you hit it off apparently like you’ve never hit it off with anyone else before which— by the way, I’m right here, rude— and then you _forget to get his number?_ ”

Patroclus groaned. “Well, when you put it like that..”

“You are officially the most useless person I’ve ever met,”

“You’re not helping.”

“Patroclus, darling,” Briseis said, dark eyes flashing with amusement. “There is nothing I can do to help. You’re a lost cause.”

“Should I like, wait outside every morning, and see if he shows up again?”

“That is the single most desperate thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I don’t know what else to do!” Patroclus threw his hands up in the air.

“You said he’s on track, right?” Briseis asked. Patroclus nodded. “Okay, give me a second.”

Briseis got up and darted out of the room before Patroclus could protest. Instead, he pulled out his woefully Achilles-free phone and scrolled through it for a little bit. A few minutes passed, and Briseis walked back into the room, trailed by Penelope, a girl Patroclus recognized as staying in the dorm a few doors down from Briseis.

Briseis flopped herself down back on top of Patroclus’ legs, and Penelope sat down on the opposite bed. “So,” She said, “What did you need help with?”

“Patroclus is stupid,” Briseis said. Patroclus flushed, and sent Briseis a glare. She ignored him, and continued. “Your boyfriend is on track, right? We were just wondering if you could ask him for the number of this guy Patroclus met.”

“Oh, sure,” Penelope said. “I didn’t think there were any gay guys on the track team, though.” She paused, eyebrows furrowed in thought. Patroclus felt like he’d been hit by an electric shock. “Diomedes, maybe. Is it him? I can just give you his number now, he’s Odysseus’ best friend.”

Patroclus was sure his entire head was blushing. “No! Not— I don’ t think— I don’t want his number as date,” He stammered. “Just as friends.” He was sweating. Why was his body reacting like this?

Briseis and Penelope considered him for a second, as he sat propped up on his elbows in panic. He cleared his throat. “Seriously.”

Briseis shrugged and turned back to Penelope. “I don’t think it was Diomedes,” she said, mercifully changing the subject. “Patroclus, what was his name again?”

“Achilles,” he said, and Penelope grinned.

“Oh, I know him,” She said, glancing down at her phone screen. “He’s really cool. I haven’t talked to him much, though.” She looked up, and her eyes met Patroclus’, friendly and easy. “I just asked Odysseus. It’ll only take a moment.”

“Thank you,” said Patroclus, smiling at her. She smiled back.

“Sorry for assuming, earlier.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Patroclus said. “I just didn’t expect it. And I mean— I do like guys, so you got part of that right.”

She laughed a little. “Oh, well, that’s good!” Her phone buzzed, and she picked it up, typing for a second before holding it out to Patroclus. “Here,” she said. “You can just put it into your phone.”

He typed it in, and handed it back. There was a little phone charm dangling off the corner of her phone— an ocean wave, clear and blue. Patroclus liked her, he decided. He handed her phone back, and she took it, standing up.

“Alright, well, I have to go,” She said. “Bye Bri, bye Patroclus! Glad I could help!” They waved, and she strided out of the room.

Briseis groaned. “She’s so pretty.”

Patroclus felt a smile spread across his face, and he narrowed his eyes. “Is she, now?” He asked. Briseis sighed, laying down so that her head was by his feet.

“She is. And she’s super in love with Odysseus.”

Patroclus sighed. “We’re both useless.”

“Agreed.”

They laid there for a while in silence. Eventually Patroclus broke it, getting up and pulling Briseis to her feet.

“Come on,” he said. “They’re showing throwback Disney movies at the dollar theater, I saw it this morning.”

She frowned at him. “You’re broke.”

“A hot guy bought me fancy coffee this morning,” Patroclus said. “I can spare a dollar.” He glanced at the clock on her bedside table. “If we go now, we’ll be out by noon.”

Briseis smiled, warm and sweet. “Well then, what are we waiting for?”

She bought popcorn, and Patroclus almost kissed her. “What would I do without you?” He asked, as they made their way to the 10:15 showing of _The Little Mermaid._

“You would be a lot worse off,” She replied. Patroclus did not argue. After all, it was true.

 

It was nearly nighttime before Patroclus got the courage to text Achilles, curled over a half-forgotten textbook.

“Just text him already,” Briseis said, squinting at her computer screen. Patroclus took a deep breath, and reread his message one last time before hitting send.

 _patroclus:_  
hey, this is achilles, right? (8:47)  
it’s patroclus (8:47)

“Ugh,” Patroclus said. “What if he doesn’t respond?”

“He will,” Briseis said. “He clearly likes you.”

Five minutes passed, and Achilles didn’t respond. Patroclus groaned. “He hates me.”

“He does not hate you,” Briseis said. “Well, maybe he does, I don’t know. But just based on what you said, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t hate you.” She glanced out the window, brows furrowing. “It’s getting late. You should head back— it’s not safe to go walking across campus in the dark.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Even though you literally did that this morning.”

Patroclus’ lips twitched despite the pang in his chest, sharp and cold. It was time to leave, he reminded himself. You can’t just stay in the girl’s dorms forever. “Yeah,” He said quietly, packing up his stuff. Briseis watched him, face solemn.

He stood, ready to leave, but hesitated. Something weighed at the back of his mind. “You know, I can go to the library during the day,” he said. “I don’t have to be here all the time.”

Briseis’ mouth twisted. “Patroclus, you know I don’t mind having you here. I’d much rather you be here than just sitting alone at the library or in your car. You know my roommate is never here anyway.”

Patroclus sighed. “I know.” He bent over, kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you,” he said quietly, voice sincere. Her eyes softened.

“You’re not in this alone,” she said gently, raising her hand to cup the side of his face. Patroclus closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Words hung on his lips, but he didn’t say them, unsure of— or afraid of— what would come out of his mouth. Instead, he straightened up.

“I know,” he said, making his way out of the room. He paused at the doorway. “See you tomorrow, Bri.”

“See you tomorrow, Pat.” She smiled, and Patroclus could feel affection for her welling up inside of him.

It was a cool, clear, evening, the sky slowly darkening to a deep blue as Patroclus made his way across campus. As he walked, the song of crickets began to ring through the air, and moths began to gather at the streetlights. A raccoon scurried across a nearby parking lot, heading for the dumpsters. All of the creatures of the night, slowly waking up.

Patroclus took the elevator up to the top floor of the north campus parking garage, tapping his fingers idly on the bar. He reached the top floor, and looked up appreciatively— the stars were beginning to come out.

He approached his car slowly. His mother’s guitar was nestled snugly in his trunk, alongside his suitcases of clothes. A first aid kit was stored in his glovebox, alongside his toothbrush, shampoo, conditioner, soap, razor, and other cleaning products. His textbooks rested beneath the passenger seat, and a collection of protein bars sat on the floor of the backseat, along with a blanket and a pillow.

Patroclus got in the back, and locked the doors, making sure to set an alarm— he had lab in the morning. He laid down in the backseat, pulling the blanket over him. He tried to close his eyes, but they flickered open, fixing on the stars outside his window. He lay and stared, until sleep finally dragged over him, heavy and silent.

As Patroclus slept, the stars shone above him, like sugar strewn across the black sky. Just a half mile away, Achilles was toweling his hair dry in the track field’s locker room, the other boys yawning, stretching their legs out, or rinsing off the sweat from their bodies. His phone screen lit up when he turned it on— he had a text. Achilles opened it, and a smile spread across his face.

Patroclus’ phone chimed, but it didn’t rouse him. The stars shone, the crickets were singing. Briseis turned her light off and sank down into her bed. Somewhere, halfway across the world, the sun was rising. And all the while, Patroclus lay in the backseat of his car, sunk into the heavy slumber of sleep, mind aloft in a dream.

 

 _Maybe: achilles:_  
yes, it’s achilles! (11:03)  
hey patroclus! (11: 04)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we say hi to automedon, and patroclus and achilles hang out again!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the change in formatting, i'm trying to figure out the best way to move my stuff from google docs over to here so i think this fic is going to be formatted like this from now on! if anyone has any advice on how to easily preserve italics/etc when you move stuff over without having to manually change all the spacing lmk :( hopefully it doesn't affect your enjoyment too much!

Patroclus awoke slowly, a ray of sunlight slowly lengthening across his face as he lay, head buried in his pillow. He could hear birdsong outside, as he stirred, and he felt the temperature of the car start to rise. By the time his alarm went off, he was almost fully awake, blinking blearily at the seat in front of him. 

 

He turned the alarm off without even looking at it, and leaned over the backseat to the trunk, pulling a pair of jean shorts and a polo from one of his suitcases. He brushed his teeth quickly, not using toothpaste, and ran a comb through his hair, checking it in the rearview mirror to make sure it was presentable. 

 

He really had to shower soon, he thought idly, spritzing on some cologne. He wondered where would be good— he could sneak into the gym, maybe, and use the showers there. He didn’t have a membership, but it wouldn’t be that hard to get in without being noticed. It would be bad if he was caught, but he really couldn’t go much longer without showering. He craved it, the feeling of being clean, and there was only so much deodorant and dry shampoo could do. 

 

Patroclus popped a cheap breath mint in his mouth and sighed. He grabbed everything he needed— textbooks, phone, charger, half-broken laptop he’d bought off of Automedon last year, and his wallet, after double checking that all his money and cards were in it. 

 

He was in the elevator on his way down when he checked his phone for the first time, scrolling through notifications when he saw the texts. His eyes widened when he saw it.

 

_ Maybe: achilles: _

yes, it’s achilles!  _ (10:03) _

hey patroclus!  _ (10:04) _

 

_ He texted me back _ , he thought, and typed quickly, a smile making itself at home on his face.

 

_ patroclus: _

hi! i’m glad i got the right number  _ (8:42) _

 

To his surprise, Achilles texted back almost immediately. 

 

_ achilles: _

me too. how did you get my number, by the way?  _ (8:44) _

 

_ patroclus: _

a friend who knows someone from track got your number for me  _ (8:45) _

sorry that’s kind of weird  _ (8:45) _

 

The elevator door opened, and Patroclus stepped out and glanced around, trying to remember which building his next class was in. His phone buzzed again. 

 

_ achilles: _

it’s not weird. i’m glad you did  _ (8:46) _

i was so annoyed at myself after i forgot to get your number yesterday  _ (8:46) _

 

Achilles was glad he had texted him. Patroclus bit his lip, suppressing a smile, and texted back. 

 

_ patroclus: _

me too!  _ (8:47) _

why are you up so early?  _ (8:47) _

 

_ achilles:  _

i have a math lecture  _ (8:48) _

why, what about you?  _ (8:49) _

 

_ patroclus: _

i have a lab :(  _ (8:50) _

 

_ achilles: _

already? it’s only a week and a half into the school year  _ (8:50) _

 

_ patroclus: _

premed never rests!  _ (8:51) _

 

_ achilles: _

man, i guess so  _ (8:51) _

 

Patroclus arrived at the building, and it only took a little while for him to find his class. He spotted Automedon, sitting at one of the tables in the front, and took a seat next to him, shooting him a grin. 

 

_ patroclus: _

i have to go  _ (8:56) _

but i was wondering if you wanted to meet up later?  _ (8:56) _

 

_ achilles: _

sure!  _ (8:57) _

want to meet at that coffee place at like 10:30?  _ (8:57) _

 

_ patroclus: _

okay!  _ (8:58) _

but you’re not paying for me again  _ (8:58) _

 

_ achilles: _

...of course not  _ (8:59) _

 

_ patroclus:  _

okay i really gtg  _ (8:59) _

see you soon!  _ (8:59) _

 

_ achilles: _

see you!  _ (9:00) _

 

Automedon turned to Patroclus as soon as he put his phone down. 

 

“What’s got you in such a good mood this morning?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You’re smiling like, huge. Did you meet a cute guy or something?”

 

Patroclus raised a hand to his mouth and found that, yes, he was in fact smiling like an idiot. “You could say something like that,” He said cheekily, turning to the front of the room.

 

Automedon’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened, ready to press for more information, when their professor started to talk. He was dutifully silent and attentive the whole class period, but Patroclus could see Automedon shooting furtive glances at him out of the corner of his eye. It was only after class, when Patroclus was packing up his bag, that he took his chance.

 

“So, Patroclus… Who’s this new guy?”

 

Patroclus shook his head exasperatedly, but he was unable to suppress a grin. “He’s just a friend.”

 

Automedon leaned forward, leaning on Patroclus’ desk. “You’re smiling again. Forgive me if I’m not convinced.”

 

“I guess you’ll just have to take me at my word.”

 

Automedon narrowed his eyes, but Patroclus cut him off, anxious to meet Achilles on time. “I have to go, but I’ll see you on Monday, right?”

 

“Yep,” Automedon said, before a sly grin spread across his face. “Maybe afterwards we can take drive somewhere… to study.”

 

Patroclus whipped his head up in alarm. “No. Nope. Not happening. I actually  _ need _ my car this year, Automedon.”

 

“Come on!” Automedon exclaimed. “It was an accident.”

 

“Forgive me for not wanting my car to end up in a ditch again because you thought it would be fun to race through the streets like in  _ Fast and Furious. _ ”

 

“You know I worked for Uber this summer? I had almost a five star rating.”

 

Patroclus raised an eyebrow, swinging his bag over his shoulder. “Sure,” He said dryly. “See you on Monday.”

 

Automedon walked out with him, hurrying to catch up to Patroclus’ longer legs— he was surprisingly short. “Where are you going in such a hurry, anyway?”

 

“I’m getting coffee with a friend.”

 

Automedon narrowed his eyes. “Would that happen to be the same friend you were texting earlier?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

He gasped. “Patroclus, oh my god, I’m so sorry for keeping you up.” He practically pushed Patroclus down the stairs, ignoring the glare directed his way. “Go! Good luck! Have fun! Tell me all about it!”

 

Patroclus flipped him off as he walked away, ignoring Automedon’s crowing laugh as he did so. 

 

The coffee shop wasn’t far, so Patroclus took his time, admiring the campus. It really was beautiful. The gentle sloping of the landscape, the brick sidewalks, the elegant 19th century buildings. Soon, the air would be crisp with the cold bite of fall, the trees changing from their green to a mosaic of reds and oranges and yellows. He could even taste the beginnings of it in the air— the wind rustled his hair, and clouds were blowing in, the sky turning a dark gray. A storm was approaching. But this was a summer storm still, Patroclus thought, as the warm air blew against him, bringing with it the wet, heady smell of rain. The air hummed with a strange energy, as if impatient, reckless.

 

_ Oh, _ Patroclus thought, inexplicably.  _ This is the feeling of change on the horizon.  _ Summer, giving way to fall, year after year, inevitable. And every year it went, always, with lashing rains and cracking lightning and the fierce  _ boom _ of thunder— it would not leave without a fight.

 

The first drop of rain fell, distracting Patroclus from his thoughts. Instead, he watched it, frozen, transfixed. It fell as if in slow motion, falling towards him, and before Patroclus realized, he was moving forward to meet it. The raindrop landed with a  _ plop _ onto his forehead, and he gazed into the dark clouds for a moment, stunned into silence.

 

Then, the rain fell all at once. It soaked him through— his hair, his bag, his clothes. And Patroclus just stood, frozen, in the middle of it, eyes fixed upon the sky. A crack of lightning broke the spell, and he shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He realized, dismayed, that his books and notes must be soaked. He didn’t have an umbrella, or a jacket, or anything to protect from the rain. There was no escaping it.

 

He pulled his bag from his back and hunched over it, hurrying the rest of the way to the coffee shop. 

  
  
  


Achilles was standing outside when he arrived, a clear umbrella clutched in his left hand, idly scrolling through his phone with his right. He looked just as immaculate as when Patroclus had first seen him, long strands of golden hair pulled back into a messy bun, track jacket casually layered over a soccer jersey and a pair of athletic shorts. He was wearing— were those Jordans? Patroclus wasn’t sure, but they looked expensive.

 

He approached him, wiping rain-soaked strands of hair off his forehead. Achilles looked up, a smile already spreading across his face when his eyes widened, taking in Patroclus’ appearance. Patroclus flushed, heat rushing to his cheeks— he was sure he looked like a drowned rat.

 

Achilles walked over to him, meeting him halfway, holding the umbrella above both of their heads. His eyes glinted with amusement. “Got caught in the rain?”

 

Patroclus snorted. “You could say that.”

 

Achilles’ glanced at Patroclus’ arms— freckled with goosebumps. “I know I said we should get coffee, but I feel like we should get you dried off instead.”

 

“Do you have a towel?”

 

“Oh,” Achilles said. “No, I don’t.”

 

Patroclus looked at him curiously. “It’s fine, then. We can just go in.”

 

Achilles shook his head. “You’re soaked,” he said, eyes sweeping over Patroclus’ slender frame. “You’ll get sick.”

 

“I don’t get sick that often.” Patroclus ran a hand through his hair. “Seriously, it’s okay. You don’t even have a towel.”

 

“I have one at my dorm. It’s only five minutes away.”

 

“I don’t want to use your musty shower towel,” Patroclus said, a teasing smirk on his face. 

 

Achilles opened his mouth in indignation. “It’s clean!” He insisted. “Come on Patroclus, it isn’t a big deal. You’re shivering. And—” He glanced at Patroclus’ bag, dripping wet. “Isn’t your stuff soaked?”

 

It was.

 

Patroclus sighed. “Okay, but don’t get mad at me when I drip all over your room.”

 

“Oh, come on,” Achilles said. “It’s the boys’ dorm. It’s seen far worse.”

 

“Gross,” Patroclus said, as they set off to Achilles’ dorm, shoulder to shoulder under his umbrella. 

 

“Yeah, well, it’s a fact,” Achilles said, smile toying at his lips. His eyelashes were long and dark, Patroclus noticed.

 

They walked along the path slowly, joking and trading anecdotes. Patroclus told the story of Automedon’s crashing his car, to Achilles’ great amusement, and Achilles rambled on for a bit about Chiron— apparently, he was Achilles’ idol.

 

Achilles had just finished gushing about Chiron’s songwriting prowess when a crack of thunder startled both of them, and they flinched into each other, so close their shoulders collided. Their eyes met, still wide and alarmed, and Patroclus felt a smile spreading across his face at their joint overreaction, just as Achilles began to grin as well. 

 

“When I was a little kid,” Patroclus said, starting down the path again, chest fluttering strangely, “Like three or four years old, I was terrified of thunderstorms. And one day, around Easter, the Easter Bunny was at the nearby mall in this pavilion or something, but it was storming really bad.” He glanced at Achilles, grinning sheepishly. “The pavilion was covered, so it was fine, but I was barely holding it together. And then, just as they put me on his lap, I remember there was the loudest thunder I have ever heard in my entire life, and I was so scared I started crying and just pissed myself, all over the Easter Bunny.”

 

Achilles laughed, clear and bright. “Oh my god, you didn’t.”

 

“I did,” Patroclus groaned, as Achilles covered his face with his free hand, head tilted back in amusement.

 

“That had to have been the worst day of his entire career.” 

 

“I was like, the tenth in line,” Patroclus said. “There were thirty people behind me. Children were screaming and crying, it was pouring, and I had just pissed all over a guy in a white fursuit.”

 

Achilles cackled. “Patroclus,” He laughed, “The image of that in my mind’s eye is— it’s too much.”

 

Patroclus began to laugh beside him. “You should have seen the look on the photographer’s face.”

 

“Please tell me you have the photo.”

 

Patroclus pulled his phone out of his backpack, quickly scrolling through rows of his childhood pictures— he had downloaded them off of his mother’s old computer. He didn’t linger, scrolling past the years of memories and ignoring the stab in his chest, and instead finding the picture from that ill-fated day. 

 

He was in the middle of being dragged off of the Easter Bunny’s lap, a blurry pair of arms hastily pulling him out of frame. His face was twisted and tear-stained, in the middle of an anguished wail, arms flailing. The bunny’s hands were partially lifted in shock, and it was looking past the camera to the cameraman, in the closest thing a stuffed head could come to looking distraught. Yellow stained one of his white, fluffy legs.

 

He showed it to Achilles, and he  _ howled.  _ They were outside the dorm by then, Achilles bent over in peals of laughter. Eventually, he straightened up, wiping tears from his eyes.

 

“Patroclus, please send that to me,” He laughed, pushing open the door. Patroclus complied, and followed him up the rows of stairs, laughing alongside him. 

 

They arrived at his dorm room quickly, and Achilles poked his head in, checking to see if his roommate was in there. He wasn’t, and so Achilles waved him in, and pulled a towel out of his drawers, throwing it to Patroclus, before collapsing onto his bed.

 

“It  _ is _ clean,” Patroclus teased, and Achilles rolled his eyes good-naturedly. 

 

Patroclus set his bag by the air conditioner to dry, and pulled out the contents— his laptop and books were mostly fine, thank god, and his notebooks, while water-damaged, were still legible. He propped them on top of the vent, and set about drying himself off.

 

He wrapped the towel around himself, drying off his clothing until it was no longer dripping. He then bent over, and scrubbed at his hair with his towel, before flipping back up, strands of hair flipping with him. Patroclus ran a hand through it casually, ruffling the damp strands. He slung the towel over his shoulder, before glancing at Achilles— who was watching him, a strange expression on his face as he sat slumped against the wall. 

 

“What’s wrong?” Patroclus asked, giving himself a once-over. 

 

Achilles blinked. “Nothing,” he said quickly, before nodding at the space beside him on his bed. “Come sit down.”

 

Patroclus obliged, placing the towel beneath him, and lounging down beside Achilles. His eyes swept across Achilles’ side of the room, taking a quick moment to observe.

 

It was clean, but not overly so. His sheets were clean, and there was an expensive-looking laptop lying on the foot of the bed beside Achilles. An apple lay on his dresser, and a guitar case reclined in the corner. Above the headboard sat the true star of Achilles’ room— a small shelf, and on it, trophies, medals, ribbons, certificates. All first-place winners. Award after award after award. Patroclus shifted up to get a better look, leaning over to examine them.

 

A medal, from Junior Nationals when Achilles was thirteen— first place in the 1500. A trophy, from High School National Championships Achilles’ junior year— first place in the 800, the 1500, and the 4x400 meter relay. There were a dozen just like this, and Patroclus couldn’t spot a single second or third-place award anywhere. There was a first-place award for the High School and Junior National Championships every single year Achilles had been eligible, he realized. 

 

He turned to Achilles, who was sitting on his bed watching him expectantly. “You’re kind of a big deal, huh?” He asked, gesturing to the shelf. 

 

Achilles laughed. “I guess you could say that.” 

 

Patroclus studied the shelf for a minute more, before flopping back down beside Achilles. It was cold in the dorms, and he shivered involuntarily. Achilles noticed, and stripped off his jacket, handing it to him. 

 

“Here,” he said, oblivious to Patroclus’ surprise. “It’ll keep you warm until you get dry.”

 

He almost refused, but the way Achilles was looking at him gave him pause— like he was the only thing in the world, eyes warm and sincere. Heat rose to Patroclus’ cheeks, and, despite himself, he took it. It really was cold, anyway.

 

The jacket was comfortable, warm, and too big for him— Patroclus and Achilles were the same height, but Achilles was more muscular. It smelled slightly sweet and fruity. The faint fragrance was one Patroclus recognized, before realizing that the only reason he knew it was because it was the scent that hung off of Achilles. For a moment, he idly wondered if he wore perfume. 

 

“Thank you,” He said, leaning back against the wall, Achilles right beside him. His eyes flickered to the guitar in the corner. “That’s yours, right?” He asked, inclining his head at it. 

 

Achilles nodded. “Do you want to see it?”

 

“Yes,” Patroclus said. He watched Achilles pick up the case and take the guitar out— all with incredible tenderness and care. A strange feeling rose in his throat. 

 

Achilles sat back down and handed it to Patroclus, who took it gingerly, afraid to handle it with less care than Achilles had. It was a beautiful instrument, made of a deep mahogany wood. It gleamed slightly in the dull light, and its strings glinted, smooth and well-maintained. Patroclus strummed a few notes hesitantly— while he knew how to play, he hadn’t tried in years, and his hands, while reliably steady and precise, weren’t quite big enough to play guitar very well. Instead, he handed it back to Achilles. 

 

“Play me something,” He murmured, and Achilles smiled softly. He began to strum, hands moving across the instrument, deft and confident, yet delicate and careful. He soon began to sing, his voice clear and low. It was beautiful, an undercurrent of wistfulness creeping into the song. His eyes were serious yet tender, slightly unfocused as he concentrated. Patroclus watched him, chest aching slightly. He was  _ really good _ . It shouldn’t have been a surprise, given he was a music major, but still. It was like watching an angel.

 

He smiled at Achilles when he was finished. “That was incredible, Achilles, really,” He said, and hesitated before he continued. “Play another.”

 

He obliged, grinning at Patroclus as he did so. This one was more lighthearted, and he sang it to Patroclus directly, with a teasing smile. As he finished, Patroclus laughed. “It’s like my own personal concert.”

 

“Well, good thing I don’t mind a one-man audience,” Achilles replied brightly.

 

He began strumming the next song, and Patroclus’ heart stuttered, recognition hitting him like a truck. He knew this song. And it was the same version, too— acoustic guitar. Same key, even. Patroclus looked down, eyes suddenly burning with tears, desperately trying to will them away.

 

The guitar stopped. “What’s wrong?” Achilles said softly.

 

Shame prickled at Patroclus’ spine. This wasn’t Achilles’ problem. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, and wiped his eyes, looking up. Achilles’ brow was furrowed in concern. “Sorry,” He said. “It’s just— my mother used to sing me that song.”

 

“Oh,” Achilles said, seemingly at a loss for words. Patroclus locked eyes with him and smiled his most reassuring smile. “I’m okay,” He said. “It just took me off guard. You can keep singing.”

 

Achilles looked at him searchingly for a moment, before thankfully deciding to drop it. He strummed a few notes before pausing. 

 

“You can play, right?” He asked.

 

Patroclus blinked. “A little,” He replied. “It’s been a long time, though.”

 

“That’s okay,” Achilles said, brightening. He handed him the guitar. “Play me something.”

 

Patroclus smiled a little. “Okay, but I warned you.”

 

He paused, trying to remember everything he’d ever learned, and then began a very clumsy, rusty rendition of  _ Wonderwall _ — guitar only, because while he wasn’t a bad singer, his attention was entirely focused on playing. He had to look at the guitar the entire time, making sure his fingers went in the right place, so it was a surprise when Achilles began to sing, voice weaving through the chords like a thread of golden light.

 

Patroclus glanced up, and their gazes met, locking together, Patroclus’ dark eyes gazing into Achilles’ brighter ones. Achilles’ eyes were beautiful, he realized. They were the exact same shade as the summer’s leaves, flecked with gold and a darker green, serious yet tender. Patroclus took a deep breath, joined his voice with Achilles’. It was higher than Achilles’, reedier, but somehow, entwined together with Achilles’, it sounded more beautiful than ever before. 

 

Their gaze only broke when the song slowly came to an end, and Patroclus handed the guitar back to Achilles, a pleased quirk at the corner of his lips. 

 

“How long did you say it had been since you last played?” Achilles asked, guitar settled back in his hands as comfortably as if it was his own body.

 

“Three or four years,” Patroclus answered.

 

“Patroclus,” Achilles said, eyes bright. “That was really good.”

 

Patroclus laughed. “Thank you, I guess.”

 

“It’s the truth,” He said. 

 

Patroclus just shook his head at him, but he laughed a little bit, and Achilles joined him, and they laughed quietly together, both staring at their own laps.

 

They looked up at each other, eyes meeting at the same time, and Patroclus’ breath hitched slightly. Achilles swallowed. Then, he reached forward, hand gently brushing the side of Patroclus’ head, just above his ear. They both froze. Achilles quickly pulled his hand away, as if he’d been burned. 

 

“I— um— sorry,” He said, cheeks quickly darkening. “Your hair was sticking out and—” 

 

“It’s okay,” Patroclus said quickly, face hot. 

 

“I’m just gonna,” Achilles gestured vaguely at his guitar. “Play another. Song. You know?”

 

“Yep,” Patroclus said, nodding vigorously. His heart was doing flips and cartwheels in his chest.

 

Achilles began to strum quickly, a fast-paced, complicated song, ears tipped with red.

 

_ Well, _ Patroclus thought.  _ This might be a bit of a problem. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate chapter title: patroclus accidentally falls in love, oops

**Author's Note:**

> thank you thank you thank you for reading! comments are literally treasured by me so if you want to, please leave feedback!


End file.
